


Callisto's Writings

by Experiment413



Series: Mianite: Awakening Lore [24]
Category: Mianite - Fandom, Minecraft - Fandom
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Mianite: Awakening, Past Brainwashing, Rebellion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-30 16:08:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13955175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Experiment413/pseuds/Experiment413
Summary: Pre-Awakening and pre-Ezaven writings of Sky, going by the moniker "Callisto" at the time.





	1. Hidden Stone Pathways

I, like many others, find perfect hideaways in various rooms that scatter Dagrun, all determined on safety by our own kind of mental scale. The underground stone pathways make fantastic places for our work and it’s one of the few places our community can actively interact.

 

While we lose this place to the king finding locations of our operations, we’ve found a place to get away that wasn’t made by those on the sides of the royals.

These hand carved pathways are small, easily tucked away into various areas. They’ve come to outnumber our activity in the tunnels, and for the good of us too. While these pathways are never truly connected to each other, they are safer to not be. To find these locations we take to above the ground rather than below, hidden in the Mianitees.

 

While the Dianitees of our small community are the true makers of the pathways, we get our fair share done as Ianitees, bringing to life these places. I’ve carved out crevices of my own, 3 meters back and 2 and a half meters high. I understand my appearance is deceiving, but I have my key in. I teach in these crevices normally, some words of an acolyte coming from me. And I am blessed that they do not talk much of me beyond my existence and my words.

 

We turned the Mianitees creations onto their creators, from well-disguised trap doors to entire setups of moving panels and ingenious ways to get what energy we can when we’ve been cut off, we are well hidden in the cracks of Dagrun. We’re the dandelions sprouting from inbetween the cobblestones, that people are so desperate to kill, but few find lovely.

 

Even with the pathways, I don’t leave these four walls much. I’ll go onto the ports many times, and I have my personal hideaway. But I am still here, encased in gray stone, my personal birdcage. And you sure as hell know I will not sing in that birdcage.


	2. Glass Half Empty

Whenever I delve to think about the works of our Lady, it often hurts to think straight. It’s a problem I’ve experienced since I was a child, hearing things were difficult to me when I was little and I’d have to squint to read the pages that I can perfectly see today. The royals told me it was dyslexia, but who am I to believe them.

 

In fact, when I was first beginning my writings, a soft crackle would come from many of the other Ianitees’ voices. I’d come to shoo it away, but it was persistent for quite a while. Though, excuse my paranoia, I believe it to be the royals’ faults.

 

Whatever the cause, I believe Ianite is willing it away from my brain. With it still in my head even now, I feel a tad empty. It’s the pieces of the puzzle yet to be found, and while we are on a scavenger hunt, half will do for now.

 

Ianite help us, we don’t want to be bothered even subconsciously by the royals. We struggle to avoid already, feeling as if there’s a dangerous plague on our tails, coming to make us ill and wipe us out like flies.

We must be wary, even if this remains a one-person thing. We must be wary if it spreads or consumes. We must remain strong, even with a flicker in the back of my mind. I understand how many depend on me, and I refuse to let the static consume me.


	3. Dull Pains

[Grains of sand fall out of the pages as you open the book…]

 

I was brainwashed. I came to that epiphany in the Inertia.

But how did I remember it? I know the trauma and the praying and the overthinking played a role, but…

 

What do I remember of it?

 

I was young. Twelve, maybe. It hurt.

 

I was just told to come with Helgrind. It was normal. I was getting used to an awful life in the castle without Alva, without Freya, without the people who I loved the most.

I followed him. He said I was sick or something, took me to a doctor.

 

I blacked out. And I woke up sometime later, a sedative wearing off on me.

There were voices. Three of them. Helgrind. The Herald. The “doctor”. Arguing about something. The Herald’s voice was snappy, bitter. Helgrind was the token grumpy, gruff voice.

 

And the pain was terrible.

It was dull. Run from the back of my head to about the middle of it. I don’t remember if I was bleeding or not, but I knew it was a cut.

Someone had magically healed it up later. There’s a scar there, hidden by my hair.

Waking up from sedative, my head swam. Nothing was real to me. Everything was fuzzy. Shapes and colors and concepts and pain.

 

I shut my eyes, wishing it gone.

The sedative kicked me back into sleep.

 

I remember it wearing off again. Fuzzy. Voices. It was dark, it was loud, people were fighting. I was moving, not on my own accord, but unable to move a muscle and being moved, on a cot I guess. I was being rushed somewhere.

Black again.

 

I woke up in my bed, in my room.

Helgrind was there, sitting near my bed, like Freya had before.

Something was gone.

I sat up slowly. My head hurt with a dull pain. I was weirdly exhausted. I struggled to move. I was weak, I looked thinner.

Helgrind kind of looked amazed or happy to see me awake fully.

“Dad, what happened?”

 

Something was gone. Her name was Ianite, and she was my grandmother.


End file.
